


Alone at last

by Karla1209



Series: Missing Scenes [3]
Category: Winnetou - Karl May
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Boys Kissing, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fear, Love Confessions, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sex In A Cave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 21:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16375487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karla1209/pseuds/Karla1209
Summary: Second part of my missing scene to Old Surehand III.Finally the bloodbrothers are alone and Old Shatterhand can fulfill his promise to comfort Winnetou properly after the attack of Toby Spencer.Can be read as a standalone, but refers to part two (Protected, Sheltered, Loved) of the "Missing scenes"-series.





	Alone at last

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, esteven, for translating!

Many weeks had passed since Winnetou and Old Shatterhand had made their way to the mountains to warn Old Surehand, to help him and during that time to recover the money robbed from Hammerdull and Holbers.

So many things had happened during their ride. It had been a time full of adventures, they had been able to unravel the mysteries surrounding Old Surehand’s family history, they had witnessed Old Wabble dying. But nothing had disturbed the Apache’s heart more than the night Toby Spencer had shot at Old Shatterhand, wounding him in the leg. Winnetou had tracked the attacker and heard him state to have killed Old Shatterhand.

That had turned out to be wrong, but the uncertainty, his fear until he had returned to their camp and the succeeding necessity to cause Sharlih pain when removing the ball and treating the wound, had sent Winnetou’s inner balance into complete disarray.

Sharlih had been able to reassure him that night, but ever since that attack the Apache was filled with a burning need for his friend, a need he found ever harder to contain as the days went on. Even then, he had yearned to kiss and caress him, to lie down with him under the blankets, bare skin to bare skin so that he would be able to feel his beloved’s warmth and heart beat without layers of clothes between them. How he had longed to caress every inch of his friend’s skin with his lips to assure himself that his blood brother was truly alive.

But this was not to be while in company, and since then, one adventure had followed another, so that they had hardly had a minute to themselves even after having parted from their companions.

Today, at long last, it would be different. Not only were they on Apache grounds, but were on their way to their hiding place. They had had no need of talking, but had turned towards the cave by mutual, unspoken agreement. It had become their guarded, secret retreat whenever they yearned for time alone, time for nothing but make love to each other – vocally and passionately.

Essentially, they could have done so at the pueblo, too, because, after all, Winnetou’s tribe were well aware what their chief and Old Shatterhand were to each other, and nobody would have passed judgment on them. In a society that knew no doors, sexuality was regarded as a matter of course. It was Old Shatterhand who found it hard, if not nearly impossible, to lie with his blood brother. When they did, he was uptight and wished to hurry towards release since he always felt nervous to be overheard or discovered.

It had been a while since they had furnished the cave to their liking with furs, blankets and provisions. They had concealed path as well as entrance, so that it was impossible for a random passer-by to find them.

In their retreat Sharlih felt safe enough to let go, to give voice to his passions and to let his body take over command. It was here they spent their days and nights to express their love, to sleep in each other’s arms from having brought each other to the heights of passion, only to explore and possess the body of their beloved anew. And it was exactly what they yearned for now. They wished to be close, to ensure their minds’ and bodies’ integrity, to reassure themselves of having weathered those adventures and survived them together. 

On reaching the cave, their patience had almost run out. As soon as their horses were provided for, they started tearing at each other’s clothes, not even waiting to lie down comfortably on their pallet of furs and blankets. Impatiently, Winnetou opened the buttons of his blood brother’s shirt. He urgently wished to shift it from his friend’s shoulder and put his hands on the bared chest.

His friend, in turn, tore at the seam of Winnetou’s hunting shirt. Finally the Apache let it slide down in one smooth movement before he pressed his lips to the other’s. Old Shatterhand returned the kiss at once. He opened his mouth to give his brother access. Without letting go of each other they sank to the ground.

Their so far wild, passionate kiss turned tender, searching, almost careful. It was then that Winnetou, leaning over his friend and lying halfway across his chest, broke away to place his hands to the sides of Shatterhand’s face. He breathed “I thought I had lost you.” 

Smiling gently, the white man replied to this touch by framing his friend’s face with his fingers, caressing eyebrows with his thumb and whispered “But you have not. I am here.”

“Will my brother permit me to see for myself? Will he give his body into my keeping as he has done so often in the past? Will he entrust me with his pleasure?” Winnetou feathered kisses across his friend’s face, neck and hands in between his questions.

„I am yours“, was the simple reply, “yours for the taking.”

The Apache did not need to be told twice. For a short moment, he extricated himself from his blood brother, got rid of his leggings and, still wearing his loincloth, leaned across his friend’s bare chest, his lips enclosing the right nipple to suck and kiss it while his hands started to roam.

They caressed every inch of soft skin, drew lines across a muscular torso that slowly started to writhe under searching, caressing ministrations while the hands advanced towards his friend’s centre that rose to greet them impatiently.

Slowly Winnetou followed his hands with his lips that kissed their way towards the white man’s waistband. He let his hands slip into the one remaining piece of clothing as far down as possible to grasp for his friend’s burgeoning shaft.

An aroused and almost desperate growl showed him that his intentions had worked only too well, that his friend‘s still closed pants had become almost unbearably tight. He opened its buttons and got rid of the trousers to release and admire his friend’s freed erection that, hard and heavy, waited for his touch.

Winnetou did not oblige his friend, not yet. Instead he moved past his centre towards his thigh, towards the by now well-healed wound Spencer had caused. He touched it tenderly, first with his lips then with his fingers. “Forgive me for having needed to give you pain when I treated you. Winnetou would rather have born the pain a hundredfold instead of having to cause it to you.” 

“Winnetou, no, Winnetou, look at me.” Shatterhand was adamant when he half-raised himself to put his hand under his friend’s chin, prompting him to look up and into his eyes. “You did nothing wrong. There is nothing to forgive. Please, let us no longer speak of this vexatious affair.”

Smiling his thanks, the Apache drew the fingers that were on the side of his face to his lips. He started to kiss them only to follow it up by licking and sucking at them passionately. With a low moan Old Shatterhand sank back into the soft blankets and revelled in the play of his friend’s hot tongue on his skin, though he would have loved to feel the teasing and sucking on a different part of his body entirely.

Finally Winnetou seemed inclined to give into his friend’s longing. He let his hand slide from his mouth, only to move closer to the thighs which he spread with the softest of pressure for him to lie between them. Only too willingly, Sharlih followed this mute appeal, raised his knees and opened his thighs as wide as possible to grant Winnetou access to his most intimate places.

Slowly, much too slowly the Apache worked his hands, lips and tongue up along the inside of those thighs. He kissed and nibbled, and finally took soft skin between his teeth to suck at it ardently until the other started to moan, and until he could be certain to leave a hickey that would serve his friend as a reminder of this day.

Only then did he turn his attention to the other’s quivering and dripping shaft. He cupped its roots with one hand while caressing his friend’s balls, nibbling at their tender skin to lick his way up and to finally, finally satisfy those needs that equalled his own.

His tongue licked up all drops of pre-cum that had gathered on Scharlih’s abdomen. Then he covered his friend with his body to share in a passionate kiss what he had just tasted without taking his hand from the other’s member. While their tongues duelled, while their kiss became wilder and fiercer, the Apache rubbed his thumb across the slit oozing pre-cum that they shared so ardently.

When they seemed to almost have run out of air, and when Sharlih thought to lose his mind from these teasing ministrations, the Apache leaned back and moved towards his friend’s centre, where he finally did what they had been languishing for these many weeks. He took his friend’s member deeply into his mouth while the damp fingers that had thus far caressed Sharlih, searched and nipped towards his blood brothers opening. They circled it playfully, exerting the slightest of pressure there, but pulled back every time. Sharlih squirmed impatiently at those touches while burying his hands into the Apache’s hair, trying to dictate his rhythm with demanding moves. Only then did Winnetou push his finger deeper and deeper into his friend.

By then Sharlih hoped that a second finger would follow the first, or that at least the first one would begin to massage him internally, but instead the Apache stayed where he was. He only caressed his friend’s shaft with lips and tongue, but he did not use his hand for further stimulation.

Winnetou knew that to remain motionless, to just stay within the other’s body as if being part of it, would heighten Sharlih’s pleasure immeasurably. It was not long until the friend moaned louder and louder, until he tried to turn his friend’s immovability into active stimulation by snapping his hips.

Winnetou did not let himself be pressured by these actions but instead greedily swallowed each drop from Sharlih’s shaft, while his friend buried his fingers ever more desperately into his hair, until he was forced to put into words what drove him to distraction. “Winnetou, please, I need more. I need more – I beg you.”

As if having merely waited for those pleas, he pressed down on that secret spot inside his friend deliberately, a move that generally catapulted Sharlih to the heights of desire at once. It did again this time when Winnetou felt his friend’s insides contract, and neither of them was able to prevent him from spilling himself abruptly into the Apache’s mouth with a scream of pleasure.

The Apache sucked, swallowed and licked until he had devoured the final drops his friend had spilled. Then he abandoned his blood brother’s softening shaft to move up to his face now all sweaty, kissed him deeply and passionately but left his finger buried in his friend. Only when the kiss lost its wild abandon and turned into something much softer and gentler, Winnetou extricated himself from the other’s body and fell into the furs beside him.

For a few moments the two men separated, looked deeply into each other’s eyes and then pressed their lips together anew: tenderly, lovingly, sharing closeness in a display of affection.

While they exchanged well-nigh chaste kisses, Sharlih’s fingers went a-wandering. They brushed aside the loincloth Winnetou still wore and started in turn to caress his hard erection, dripping with pre-cum. They firmly gripped the Apache’s heated flesh while the white man’s other hand fondled his friend’s balls. Sharlih knew that his touch was bound to send his friend spiralling out of control in no time at all. 

Still, he realized that Winnetou fought against permitting his body to find release. Thus, he put into words what his touches had been trying to convey. “Let go, surrender yourself. Give your passion into my keeping, just as I gave you mine. Come for me.”

And verily, the Apache let his head sink back with a loud moan. He closed his eyes and stretched his neck towards Sharlih in silent supplication. The white man understood immediately and lowered his lips to lick and suck a hickey on soft folds of skin as a sign of their mutual desire while the Apache came with abandon.

He let go of his friend’s cock when Winnetou had found his release. He raised his lips from the neck and instead licked his blood brother's cum greedily from his fingers to lose himself in the intimacy of what he tasted while his friend panted to regain his control.

After Winnetou had succeeded, he sat up to look at his friend’s face with love, with passion and with longing to utter his question. “Will my Sharlih fulfil my desire?”

The reply was instantaneous. “As always. Whatever you wish for.”

“Take me. I want to feel you inside me. I need to be certain that you are alive, that you are close to me. I need you inside me. Take me –“

As soon as Old Shatterhand heard those words, an all-encompassing desire swept through him. As often and as thoroughly as they had come to make love to each other in many different ways, it was rare that Winnetou gave his body to him so completely.

Unable to put his emotions about his blood brother’s gift into words, he drew Winnetou down to kiss him again and, by using his strength, turn them around so that the Apache lay on his back with Sharlih bent over him. 

He ended his kiss and looked into Winnetou’s eyes, those dark stars that had fascinated him deeply from the first day. He would never be able to break their spell. Today they were filled with lust and passion, but also with love and the reflection of the fear Winnetou must have felt during the night of Spencer’s attack. It tore at Old Shatterhand’s heart-strings that he was still able to see that fear in his lover’s face. It was there and then that he swore to himself to do anything in his power to finally make his friend forget what had happened in the mountains.

Gently he pressed his brow to the Apache’s, framed his face with his hands and now managed to express his feelings with words. “My brother, I give thanks to your gift. Let me show you that I am alive, that I desire you and will do anything give you proof of my love and to show how much I crave your body.”

With these words he feathered another kiss on the Apache’s lips before he began to make his way down. Light as thistledown the tip of his tongue slid across the chief’s bronze skin and caressed his powerful arms, chest, his stomach and his waist.

When his mouth reached his friend’s nipples, he licked, teasing them by gently blowing across them, so that the draft would turn them hard; small nubs around which he sank his teeth to bite Winnetou carefully – an act he knew never to fail arousing the Apache extremely.

Today was no different because Sharlih felt his friend rise up against him, tilt back his head and utter a low moan from between his beautiful lips. Nevertheless, it was that sound which made the westman hesitate because it illustrated that his lover was not quite ready to let go completely, that he still strove for control over his body, his desire and his emotions.

Usually Old Shatterhand did not mind because more often than not they had to stay where their mutual self-control was necessary in order not to risk anyone discovering their passionate play. This time though he wished for nothing more than for Winnetou to abandon his control, that today he would listen to his body, to give himself to his lover, that he would moan and shout out his feelings from that small space in his chest where he normally kept them securely stashed away.

It was for that reason that Shatterhand briefly broke their contact to speak to his friend. “Will Winnetou grant me one wish?” Astonished by this question, the Apache opened his eyes, but hastened to reply “Anything, my Sharlih, anything you wish.”

“Then, just this once, refrain from being the chief of your people, let go of your control and let your body decide. Let me hear, feel and see what you are experiencing. Will you indulge me?”

A dark veil of rising lust covered the Apache’s eyes, who, with a near animal growl that seemed to contain his agreement, drew his friend into another kiss during which Old Shatterhand felt the tension leave his friend, a tension that until then had gone unnoticed by either of them. All of his muscles seemed to relax, his hands wandering searchingly across Sharlih’s back until they finally gripped his butts, digging in only to let go when their wild kiss almost suffocated them.

Sharlih used this moment to break away and move down where he paid loving attention to his friend’s dark nubs. Again he sucked, licked and bit them. This time the Apache moaned without restraint to let his friend hear how much their love making excited him. Finally he put into words his feelings and wishes. “More, Sharlih. Please, harder.” For a second the white man hesitated because he feared he might truly hurt his friend if he bit down harder. Then he realized this was exactly what his blood brother wished for.

Winnetou wanted to exorcise the fear which had grabbed him then and which had not left him since by other, stronger emotions. He needed to feel pain, and the minute Sharlih understood, he no longer held back. It was as if within him long hidden, wild desire broke through. While he tweaked one of his friend’s nipples between his fingers, he bit into the other one passionately, sucked at it with abandon and lost himself in his desire until both his friend’s nubs had turned red, swollen and sensitive. 

It seemed Winnetou savoured those ministrations. His hands still roamed across his friend’s body, digging his nails into Old Shatterhand’s shoulders, arms, butts while caressing them softly moments later.

In turn, Shatterhand slid down, tore the loincloth still on his friend’s body away and relished the sight of his lover’s raised manhood. He wanted to grab and stimulate his friend’s member, but Winnetou held him back. “No! I want you inside me. Now!”

When the westman did not react at once, Winnetou spread his raised thighs, took hold of his blood brother’s hand and urgently pushed it past his balls to his opening, twitching with arousal.

Sharlih realized that just now, his friend did not want any foreplay, wanted to be taken without any preparation. But his love and caring demanded that he make efforts to prepare his lover. Thus, his mouth, already close to taking in his friend’s shaft, moved further down so that he could press his lips to the Apache’s secret, intimate place.

With wild abandon Sharlih placed his hands on the inside of Winnetou’s thighs, pressed them down as far as possible and licked around and across his lover’s opening, finally pushing his tongue in as far as it would go.

With each of his brother’s touches Winnetou moaned louder and louder. He tried to meet them with his hips but was held down in a strong grip. Fingers dug deliberately into the Apache’s thighs, with the knowledge that they would cause bruises.

Today Winnetou needed this wildness, he desired it because much as he was excited by his lover licking him, he hastened to push on. “Take me – take me now.” He gripped his blood brother’s arms tightly to leave traces of their intimacy in turn.

Sharlih responded to his friend’s need by raising his mouth from the twitching opening and, without warning, pushed two fingers deeply in. The Apache’s loud cry and the way he reared up excited Shatterhand so much that he had to cling to his tenuous control not to come here and now.

This was not about him, but about his Apache. To erase the memory of that fear which had burned in Winnetou’s eyes, a fear he wanted to extinguish. This brought him to his senses and made him turn his all-encompassing desire into something different – to fulfil his beloved’s wish, to give him what he desired no matter what it was.

For that reason alone he withdrew his two fingers, positioned himself between his friend’s thighs and took him frenziedly without preparation, deep, hard, without mercy. It was this that Winnetou seemed to have needed because he instantly wrapped his legs around his friend’s hips, trying to exert pressure into repeating the motion. Sharlih complied as soon as he realized this.

Exercising all his power against those legs wrapped tightly around him, he withdrew from the Apache almost completely, only to ram into him again, passionately, hard and deep. He repeated his movements twice until Winnetou’s passion-addled brain realized that he got what he wanted. So he pulled his legs towards his chest, holding them to open himself for his friend as widely as possible, so that he could be penetrated to the hilt.

Shatterhand understood this prompt, and now he no longer held back, pounding fiercely into his lover who greeted each push with load moans.

Not long until Sharlih felt his friend near climax even without having touched his proudly erect member. It was truly the following deep push that again and again had scraped the secret place inside the Apache that Shatterhand knew so well and which sent Winnetou over the edge.

He came. Loud, violent, unrestrained.

His cum shot in hot bursts from his shaft, up to his swollen nipples and nearly up to his neck.

Shatterhand slowed his even strokes almost to a stop because he knew how painful it felt when stimulation after such an intense orgasm did not end. He was ready to pull out completely when his friend opened his eyes, let go of his legs and gripped his upper arms to half-rise. Desire still clouded his voice when he begged. “No. Do not stop. Please, do not stop – More – do not stop.”

Shatterhand hesitated. They had never done this before. Did Winnetou know what he asked for? Sharlih was uncertain, but he heard his friend’s impatient growls, felt those hips snapping to achieve renewed stimulation, felt the desire for more as well as for pushes towards his own release mount in him. He finally let himself be carried away by his own passion.

He thrust again, driving his strokes deeply and mercilessly into the body of his friend’s whose face showed clearly that each touch sent sparks of lust and pain into him, something that his friend continued to yearn for.

Space and time dissolved without meaning. The two men lost themselves in their desires and in the all-consuming spiral of lust that made Shatterhand come once more, this time deep in his friend’s body. He stayed there until the final waves of orgasm receded to leave behind a mixture of exhaustion and bliss, something he also recognized in his friend’s eyes.

Slowly he sank down on his lover’s chest. Neither of them cared that it was still soiled by the Apache’s cum. Slowly, almost carefully and without any of their previous very near brutal wildness their lips met in a kiss.

The westman let his head sink to lie between the Apache’s shoulder and neck. He stretched out heavily across the man, whose trembling body he still possessed. He did not wish to withdraw completely. Not yet.

It seemed Winnetou felt the same because, without changing their position, he put his arms around his beloved, pulled him close, closed his eyes and whispered to the man who was everything to him. “Thank you. I love you.”


End file.
